


Cold

by Desdimonda



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6862354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy notices Amélie miss a shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

She had missed a shot.

Her hands trembled. 

Mercy watched as Amélie pulled back her Widow’s Kiss, swearing. She turned, extended her grappling hook and swung out of sight. A cry of medic, and Mercy turned, and left.

It wasn’t until later that night when she saw  Amélie again, stripping down her rifle. A rifle that had missed a shot.

And still, her hands trembled.

“ _What_?” asked  Amélie, not turning away from the rifle before her, it’s pieces splayed across the table, a hovering light suspended above. Her voice was bitter, sharp, the smooth edge of her usual drawl was lost.

“Is everything alright,  Amélie?” she asked, the gentle click of her steps across the floor, echoing against the walls. 

“Splendid,” she said, reclining across the table, one leg hoisted on top, beside the pieces of her rifle as she wiped down the barrel with a cloth. “Is that all?” 

And still, her hands trembled.

Mercy watched. She paused, contemplating leaving. Amélie was in no mood for a conversation; nor for company. But Mercy did not want to leave, she couldn’t. She could tell from the small nuances in her body that Amélie was not sleeping well - or at all. Her eyes were sallow; her hair, so minutely neat and tidy, was askew, loose strands falling down her back. She took a step closer, her hands clasped  before her.

“I saw you miss a perfect shot earlier,” she said, her words slow, gentle.

Amélie paused, setting down the barrel on her knee as she glanced up at Mercy from beneath her brow. “I have missed shots before,” she said, her words twinned with a slant of her eyes. “Unlike some of your _friends_ , I am no machine.”

Mercy ignored her bite and sighed softly. “You haven’t slept properly for days,” she said, approaching the sniper, and extending a friendly hand. “And your hands, they tremble. Amélie. Please, let me-”

“Let you what?” she said, rising from the table with a start. The barrel fell from her thigh and cascaded across the scattered parts of her rifle with a clang. She reached out suddenly to catch it, forgetting where it had been. But she missed, and with the reach, she lost her step and fell forward against the table, an unsteady surge of dizziness seizing her body, forcing her to latch onto the first thing she could. One hand held Mercy’s arm, the other, the table’s edge. “ _Merde_.”

“Let me help you,” said Mercy, kindly, as she held Amélie against her chest, her grip on her arm, fierce. 

Amélie, her eyes closed as she tried to ground herself, to push aside the spots before her gaze, held onto the medic as she felt her arms embrace her. She was thankful, for if she had let go, she was sure she would fall. 

“How did you know?” she asked, bitterly. Mercy was seeing her weak; _no-one_ saw her weak. 

“I am a doctor, Amélie,” she said, simply, as she carefully eased Amélie onto the bare table by the dismantled rifle. She stood before her, inches away, hands resting on the slant of her shoulders, the pads of her fingertips idly tapping over her skin; it was so _cold_ , like the breath of a first morning; like the dew on the grass.

“A meddlesome one,” she said, her words trailing off to a sigh as she dipped her head forward, the bite of a headache pulsing behind her eyes. 

“Amélie,” said Mercy, trailing a hand to the slide of her cheek. Even her face was cold. Were her lips cold, too? 

Amélie looked up, catching her gaze, the warmth of the other’s fingers pleasant against her face. A loose lock of blue hair fell forward, tangling in Mercy’s hand. “What?”

Mercy said nothing.

_Were her lips cold too?_


End file.
